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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29742711">A Tale of Teeth and Claws</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cancelpocalypse/pseuds/Cancelpocalypse'>Cancelpocalypse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The Western Rebellion, dimitri’s gauntlets are actually the main character, dmfx are kind of in love before Everything Goes Bad, drake AU, intimate claw sharpening, mention of past brotherly shenanigans, trauma and its physical manifestations</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:34:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,841</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29742711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cancelpocalypse/pseuds/Cancelpocalypse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>No one knew Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd had a crest until the Tragedy of Duscur.</p><p>A story where crests are more than magical and bonds are as deep as the wounds they carve.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(or, a story where I thought 'hehe Felix has tail' and then proceeded to make an entire AU)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is a fact that Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, heir to the throne of Faerghus, watched his father, stepmother, and a close friend die in a pre-meditated attack when he was 12 years of age.</p><p>He was the only survivor of that incident, which, because of its repercussions, became known as the Tragedy of Duscur. (The people held responsible were slaughtered for such an act against the crown of Faerghus.)</p><p>Soon after, Dimitri's hands begin to ache and itch and burn. Healers wrap his palms and fingers in salve and slip gauntlets over top, to keep him from dashing them till they bleed. Standard care for growing claws.</p><p>The healers don’t do the most careful or efficient job, maybe because they do not quite understand the pain. It is a better prospect to let Felix see and dress the ugliness of his turning hands.</p><p>***</p><p>Felix Hugo Fraldarius is the younger brother to the late Glenn Ira Fraldarius, who perished in the Tragedy of Duscur, protecting the crown prince 'til the bitter end.  </p><p>Fhirdiad, the capital, is only 2 days' ride from House Fraldarius. Dimitri's uncle reigns as regent for the time being, and he has quite a task, holding together the nation left reeling after the destruction of its crown. Rodrigue, Felix's father and the late king's closest advisor, now spends most of his time in Fhirdiad to assist in the governing of the nation. Before the Tragedy, trips to Fhirdiad were common enough, giving time for Dimitri, Glenn and Felix to spend together: sparring, taking classes, riding, and generally being up to no good. Now, things are decidedly different. There is no Glenn, and no merriment of times past.</p><p>It is the 24th of the Lone Moon, and winter still refuses to relinquish its grip on Faerghus. Hearths in the castle are lit, and servants have plenty to do, keeping the fires burning and the residents comfortable.</p><p>Felix hangs around outside Dimitri's quarters, tail twitching, listening to the prince's protests grow louder from beyond the carved oak doors. From a young age, Felix was evidently the bearer of Fraldarius' minor crest, as he grew scaling from his chest, wrapping around down to his lower back, to the dark blue of his tail. The Crest of Fraldarius is wont to endow its bearers with the tail, a relatively uncommon Nabatean feature.</p><p>Eventually, the healer opens the door, her headdress askew, beckoning Felix in.</p><p>He enters. The sunlight of mid-morning streams coolly through one of the large windows lining the east wall of Dimitri's room, heavy blue curtains pulled back. Dimitri sits on the edge of his bed, turning as Felix enters, blonde hair bright.</p><p>"Would you please, m'lord," the healer requests, giving the woven basket of salve-soaked cloths to Felix and nodding at Dimitri, who's hunched and holding his hands close to his chest.</p><p>"Yes, go," Felix nods to the healer, who makes her exit, quietly shutting the door behind her. He makes his way to where Dimitri sits, and sits on the bed beside him.</p><p>Dimitri sighs but without further protest extends a hand to Felix, who holds a bandage open.</p><p>Felix quietly takes Dimitri's hand, cracking and bleeding and hardening as his fingers are, and starts to carefully wrap it. He feels Dimitri flinch at the contact of the salve and tries not to move his hand more than necessary.</p><p>He glances up only briefly to see Dimitri biting his lip, hard, and looks back down at his work. Felix always wants to do well, and this task is no exception. He runs out of bandage and takes a new one, rips it in half before starting to wind it around Dimitri's thumb.</p><p>"You'll have to stretch out for this one," Felix tells him. Dimitri obeys, muffling a grunt of discomfort. The movement prompts blood to seep anew between cracks of darkening, hardening skin, and Felix quickly sets about his task. "It'll get better soon. Remember when my spines came in? It hurt a lot but now it's not that bad when I lose one."</p><p>"You cried a lot back then. I had better not lose and regrow these like your tail spines," Dimitri says. Felix has several dark spines that bristle at the end of his tail. Glenn had been pretty merciful when they first came in – he'd been about 8, Glenn 13. As expected, Felix had declared his goal to grow his spines even longer than Glenn's someday. (Glenn also had a tail, being a Fraldarius crest-bearer.) However, once the initial pain was gone, Glenn's choice of retribution whenever he was pranked or slighted by Felix (and company, at times) was to yank Felix's longest spine free, and thus keep Felix from achieving that goal. <em>Payback from when you used to hang onto my tail and pull my spines out, </em>he would say, with a characteristic grin.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Felix's face must have betrayed the thought of those memories. "What?" Dimitri asks.</p><p>"Just . . . Glenn," Felix says.</p><p>"Oh," Dimitri says, swallowing. "Yes . . ." He shakes his head. "It seems like he's still here sometimes."</p><p>"Really?" Felix's gaze snaps up to Dimitri's. "It seems to me like he's <em>dead</em>."</p><p>"Ow!" Dimitri complains as Felix has squeezed the area of ministration a little too hard.</p><p>"Sorry," Felix relents and finishes the current wrap. He doesn't look at Dimitri. His tail <em>thwaps </em>a couple times on the bedspread. One more bandage to go on this hand.</p><p>"No . . . I'm sorry. Of course he's gone. I don't know what I meant," Dimitri says.</p><p>"It's fine," Felix says, even though maybe it's not. He presses his tongue up on the roof of his mouth, focusing as he tucks the final bandage in place. His mouth has been sore lately. Maybe he's grinding his teeth in his sleep? Rodrigue said mother used to do that. Felix cannot remember her. Hard to miss someone you never knew.</p><p>"I can't imagine ever using these," Dimitri says. "Once they're finished coming in."</p><p>"You never call them your claws. They're claws, Dima," Felix points out. "<em>'You can't imagine ever using your claws</em>.'"</p><p>"I just . . . I don't like this. I didn't want this. I'll always use a lance. I like having the gauntlets on."</p><p>"Well, having a minor crest is good for a king. And claws are good for something. At least you'll get out of mandolin lessons," Felix points out. He stretches out the gauntlet for Dimitri. This is the worst part for him, he knows. The gauntlet has been made carefully, with a tight weave, and leather pads for protection and grip. The top segments are fitted with thin steel and edged with blue, befitting of a future king.</p><p>Dimitri makes a face. He starts slowly maneuvering his hand in, wincing. Felix tries to help, pulling the glove open this way and that.</p><p>"Curse this," Dimitri mutters, and shoves his hand in forcefully. A yelp escapes him and he withdraws the now-gloved hand, cradling it for a moment before nodding to Felix. "Next one."</p><p>Felix isn't sure he could handle the pain like Dimitri is. He admires it, even if he won't say it. When children claw, it's a horrid pain, and of course, children scream without care for the world's ears. The older you get, the worse any crest-showing will be, and even with the best pain tolerance, it still isn't fun.</p><p>When Felix has finished helping Dimitri wrap his hands and get his gauntlets on, they decide to head to the kitchen for food. The crown prince cannot spar, yet, or ride, as he can barely grip a thing; due to this, unfortunately, they both know they will be banished to the classroom for something dull like history or faith studies, before they're split for Dimitri's tutelage in all matters king-to-be.</p><p>***</p><p>Felix wraps Dimitri's claws again the next morning. This time, the healers don't even try; there's just a basket of fresh bandages waiting in Dimitri's quarters.</p><p>"I think Rodrigue's going to present you with your agarthium soon," Felix comments as Dimitri pushes his hand into the last gauntlet with the usual muffled admission of pain.</p><p>"Oh," Dimitri says, putting his hands still gingerly at his sides. "But it's going to be weeks until I'd need it."</p><p>Felix shrugs. Agarthium is the only known metal harder than Nabatean claws. It has to be harvested from a certain species of demonic beast, giant worms that inhabit the deserts of Morfis. Quite expensive, the sharpening tools are passed down through crest-bearing families.</p><p>"And I won't need it very often. I don't need them sharp," Dimitri asserts.</p><p>"Alright," Felix says, a half-smile at Dimitri's resolve. "I'd prefer you to not break my sword anyways."</p><p>Dimitri shudders a bit. "Right . . . Felix, one more thing . . . if you don't mind, I think my back could use another application," he says as Felix is tossing the empty bandage basket towards the pile of linens at the door. Dimitri never calls Felix by any nickname. He's too proper, or perhaps <em>Fe, </em>which Glenn called Felix, is buried with the dead. The two syllables <em>Fe-lix </em>run easily off his tongue anyways and Felix likes it better than he likes Rodrigue summoning him or Ingrid scolding him or Sylvain cajoling him. "It's not as bad as my hands, but it's getting quite . . . uncomfortable," Dimitri's explaining about his back. Felix turns and Dimitri's fumbling the hem on his loose white shirt.</p><p>"Stop it with your hands, I just wrapped those," Felix says, indignantly taking the edge of Dimitri's shirt in his more functional grip. He pulls the thing off over Dimitri's head, Dimitri's arms raised to assist. One sleeve gets stuck on a gauntlet and Felix has to tug it carefully off. As Dimitri turns sideways on the bed to show Felix his back, it is clear the scaling has developed, even since just a few days ago. The pattern blooms from his right shoulder, down to his scapula, and looks to be travelling across to the other shoulder blade. It's an asymmetric pattern, skin cracked and hardening to a black colour, darker than Felix's own deep blue scales. Scales – and spines -- are free when it comes to crests. Even those of a crest bloodline who don't otherwise have a Nabatean feature can scale.</p><p>Felix inspects the area. "It looks like you haven't gotten any ointment here for days."</p><p>"Well . . . that's because I haven't."</p><p>"Didn't the healers do it yesterday? And the day before?" Felix frowns. Dimitri had gotten Felix to do it the first time.</p><p>"Well . . . no. I don't really want many people to see it," Dimitri says in a murmur.</p><p>Felix stops for a moment as he realizes Dimitri wants to keep this to the confines of Felix's eyes only. He clicks his tongue, snapping against the roof of his mouth (still sore). "Who cares what pattern it's in anyways," he mutters in reply Dimitri's admission. Even if Felix doesn't care, the reality is, though, that people do care. Crest-bearers with less sightly patterns (that is, asymmetrical patterns) are held in less favor, at least compared to other crest-bearers with even features.</p><p>Felix reaches for the ointment on the bedstand and rubs some on his fingers. Tingles a little bit. Reminds him of when he was scaling, though he'd been a lot younger and their roles had been reversed then – Glenn would always tickle him, he didn't want to ask Ingrid, and Sylvain was too rough, so Felix had sought out the much kinder Dimitri to apply the scaling ointment whenever he could.</p><p>He feels Dimitri's muscles tense under his touch, a forced inhale-exhale as it no doubt starts to sting. Felix takes a faint notice of Dimitri's widening stature. He's growing broader in the shoulders. His skin is still much unscathed, at least where it is not scaling, and he's warm as Felix starts at the edges of the scaling and gently works the ointment from the outside in. Felix personally always thought it was a bit less painful if you go about it this way.</p><p>Of all the people he could ask – no, <em>command --</em> Dimitri's chosen Felix for this trusted work. There's a little bit of wonder in Felix, to think of that. The secret's safe with him. Felix only knows of one with such an undesired scaling pattern – most keep it a careful secret. That one is Sylvain Gautier, a common acquaintance, more Felix's friend than Dimitri's. Sylvain has had the minor Gautier crest from birth. His older brother Miklan, on the other hand, is crestless. As a result, Sylvain is the family favorite over his older sibling. Turned Miklan into a bitter piece of work, that kind of treatment did, and Miklan's not been kind to Sylvain all his life. There's one ghastly story about Sylvain getting trapped in a well by his own kin. Anyways, Sylvain's got a patch on his left shin that doesn't match his right. Has always hidden it. Only his friends and family know. The sad part is that once Miklan knew of that defect, he stopped being so brutally mean to Sylvain, as if the uneven scaling was satisfaction enough for him. He still takes every opportunity to shame him over it, though.</p><p>Dimitri will be king one day, and so this feature won't make him an outcast by any stretch of the imagination, but it'll have to be hidden. At least it's in a place easy to hide.   </p><p>"Don't let it go so long without ointment, it just makes it worse," Felix tells Dimitri.</p><p>"Alright," Dimitri agrees.</p><p>"You know I don't mind," Felix adds, to clarify.</p><p>"I know," Dimitri says, so soft Felix can barely make out the words.</p><p>When he's done, Felix caps the ointment and puts it back on the bedside table. He looks up at the clock on the far wall, above the tapestry depicting the Blaiddyd family crest.</p><p>"We have time to do something before mathematics," Felix says triumphantly, standing up in the morning sunbeam slanting coolly through one of the large windows. Even if Dimitri's not in much condition to do anything, Felix has thought and thought until he's come up with something workable. He flops on the bed opposite Dimitri, tail up and twitching, squinting into the light, into the crown prince's face. "I have this idea for going riding. You're still game to try it using your arms, right?"</p><p>"I suppose," Dimitri says, a bit hesitantly.</p><p>"Okay, good. I have a plan to get my horse and yours out. It involves a lot of potatoes." Felix begins to lay out his plan. It takes him the better part of a couple minutes to explain. " . . . And then we just leave that blue cape of yours and my sword belt on the posts by the stables, so they'll still think we're there, and go."</p><p>He waits for Dimitri's judgement.</p><p>"So?" he prompts.</p><p>"It sounds like something Glenn would come up with," Dimitri says at last.</p><p>Felix sighs angrily and rolls over. "Maybe that's the point! Why do you have to keep going on about him?"</p><p>"Aren't you still  . . . don't you still . . ."</p><p>"Stop it!" If Dimitri goes on a sentence more, Felix's sure he'll cry and he does <em>not </em>want to. He hasn't cried since the funeral. "Just shut up about him already!"</p><p>Dimitri looks taken aback. He lowers his gaze and clears his throat. Felix realizes in that moment he's forgotten to help Dimitri back into his shirt. The crown prince is bare skin from the waistband of his pants to his gauntlets. Felix then also looks down, which feels like a stupid reaction, but he can't help it.</p><p>"I . . . I like your idea. But maybe it's simpler to wait until I can use my hands again," Dimitri says. It sounds like an apologetic change of subject.</p><p>Felix rolls back over. His tail switches back and forth, agitated. Somehow, he knows it isn't quite fair to take anything out on Dimitri. Felix still has his father, after all, and Dimitri doesn't.</p><p>"I didn't mean like you can't talk about Glenn. Or King Lambert . . . or Lady Patricia . . . sorry," Felix says, with a huff. "You can. If you want. I just don't see the point."</p><p>Dimitri's looking at Felix again, intent. "Alright."</p><p>Felix looks back. "You know, I heard you talking to them, the other night. Through the door. I wasn't trying. But I did," he says, unflinching.</p><p>Dimitri swallows, looking uncertain.</p><p>Felix has the feeling like Dimitri's waiting for his judgement.</p><p>"You . . . you're not confused, are you?" is all Felix follows up with.</p><p>Dimitri shakes his head. "I'm not, I swear I'm not crazy, Felix. It's just – maybe comforting, for now. It'll go away. I swear."</p><p>"Okay," Felix says. The prince's promise doesn't do much to ease him.</p><p>"You don't think I'm crazy, already, do you?" Dimitri bursts, strained, with a laugh that doesn't escape his chest.</p><p>"No," Felix says. He blinks against the sun backlighting Dimitri. His blue eyes, down to his bare chest – "Your shirt –"</p><p>But Dimitri has already leaned across the bed, to Felix, pushing himself forward on his elbows, and there's only a moment of hesitation before he's pressed his lips to Felix's. Every hair on Felix's body stands up and his tail goes straight in the air and the spines on the end bristle out. And then, he finds he likes it, and the surprise melts away, and his tail curls over in satisfaction, and he lets Dimitri kiss him.</p><p>It is very chaste, and too long to be a mistake. Dimitri withdraws to breathe, hovering close. Felix can hear his breath, feel it.</p><p>"I'm not crazy," Dimitri says.</p><p>"Okay," is all Felix can muster. He wants that again. He wants it more, now that he's tasted it. His mouth is still all sore as it has been of late, but maybe Dimitri can kiss it better. "Do it again," he says.</p><p>Dimitri obeys.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading! I know the setting is painfully limited in this chapter but I have much more written; there are battles and House Fraldarius things and such coming!!! enjoy sweet dmfx because, as we well know, Everything Will Change</p><p>I also have no excuse for myself for writing this, I accept your judgement, whatever it may be</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dimitri's hands need less frequent dressing. He starts to move them cautiously, and then less cautiously. Still, Felix and Dimitri have enough time alone, and they share each other's company a little closer than they have before. Felix learns the feeling of Dimitri's mouth on his own. It becomes familiar. When the crown prince is king, he'll surely have a queen, but for now, Felix is the only one he allows this close. For now, it is enough.</p><p>Rodrigue and Felix return to Fhirdiad for but a fortnight; Rodrigue cannot afford much time away from the capital. House Gautier representatives come to visit the capital a couple months later, and Sylvain has a hell of a time with Felix and Dimitri – by that point, Dimitri can hold reins again, and steer his horse. The day when he's cleared to return to the training grounds and take a lance in hand is a great joy. It's a day before his birthday, and various representatives are at Fhirdiad to wish the prince well and try to muffle the pain the young man must feel at the first birthday without his parents. Ingrid and Sylvain are both there with House Galatea and House Gautier. Both there: to witness how Dimitri finds his confidence against Felix (though losing), and takes up his lance a little more surely against Sylvain's own. Both there: to see how he pushes himself a little harder and suddenly the wooden lance snaps and splinters in his gauntlets.</p><p>Maybe no one else catches it – maybe they do – but Felix watches Dimitri look down at his gloved claws, his gaze becoming far away for just a moment. Then he's laughing nervously and moving to pick up the broken pieces.</p><p>"Heh, guess your Highness might be better suited for brawling now," Sylvain jokes.</p><p>Dimitri jerks up, with a third of the broken lance in hand. Felix watches him sharply. The prince's jaw is tight for a moment, again looking transfixed on nothing in particular, but then he just blinks and feigns a weak smile. "I suppose," he says, tossing the piece of wood over to the closed doors of the storage room.</p><p>"You said you'll always prefer the lance," Felix says, challenging.</p><p>Dimitri looks at Felix. "Ah – well, yes. But perhaps they've got a point."</p><p>"They?" Felix quotes, even more challenging, on high alert. The tip of his tail clocks side to side aggressively.</p><p>"Sylvain! Sylvain, perhaps, has a point. Ah, I'm a little tired," Dimitri amends.</p><p>"You can't be done yet. My turn," Ingrid declares as Sylvain finishes clearing the sparring area of the broken lance. She takes a shorter lance from the rack of weapons and twirls it experimentally.</p><p>Ingrid has always preferred knightly duties to the duties of the future Lady Galatea. She is most often seen in sparring or riding gear, no long skirts or fancy headdresses. Granted her sparring gear is fancy enough. Any jerkin Ingrid wears for such activities is a bit complicated; Felix and Sylvain used to compete to see how wrong they could put it on (Sylvain was more creative and is generally credited with winning). See, just as Felix has to have his clothes specially tailored for his tail, Ingrid has to have her clothes made to accommodate her wings. Daphnel's crest is disposed to endow this feature and Ingrid is no exception – like most of the line, her wings are small and not developed enough to fly. Instead, this desired trait usually serves a political purpose, meaning there are many crested suitors lining up for her hand. These men are wont to deliver gifts to try to persuade her future hand in marriage, and so House Galatea is rather well off.</p><p>However, Ingrid has not accepted any man's offer of future alliance, whether there's a prospect of real romance or not, and so far despite her father's wishes. See, she would have had Glenn, once upon a time. Now, she is hard to cheer whenever her father mentions a new suitor knocking at House Galatea's door, which is often, from what she mentions to Felix, Dimitri and Sylvain. She doesn't generally like to discuss the pressures of her nobility, which Felix understands. After all . . . without Glenn, it falls to Felix to inherit House Fraldarius after Rodrigue. He loathes the idea of that task. Mostly because it was never supposed to be his.</p><p>Dimitri seems to hold back in the next match against Ingrid; that combined with his extended rest from training activities, and the fact that Ingrid's spent near every moment of her free time engaging in things decidedly unfit for an heiress and mother-to-be, culminate in a loss for him.</p><p>"I'll need to rest and build my strength back up," the prince says as he returns his weapon to the rack; Felix and Sylvain square off, about to have a go at it themselves.</p><p>"Your strength seems to be just fine," Ingrid laughs. "We'll spar with steel next time. I hope that will withstand your grip."</p><p>"Steel . . . that's hardly sparring anymore!"</p><p>"It won't be long until you'll be sent to fight a real battle," Ingrid says seriously. "I think Margrave Gautier is already planning to send Sylvain out when they next have trouble with pirates."</p><p>That's all Felix has time to listen to, because Sylvain rushes him in typical Sylvain fashion. Dimitri and Ingrid cheer them from the sidelines.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Felix's mouth (and jaw, seems like the whole lower half of his face hurts) continues to be sore no matter how many kisses Dimitri peppers him with.  He tries not to let on, though. When Rodrigue and Felix return to House Fraldarius several days after Dimitri’s birthday, Felix swears their healer to secrecy and asks her for anything to abate the constant ache. Although sleeping with a poultice in his mouth takes some getting used to, this treatment allows him to tolerate mealtimes. He tells the healer it must be because he's grinding his teeth at night, but it only takes him a couple furtive trips to the library at Fhirdiad to guess at a more probable truth. Which is? He flips to the page in one of the authoritative Crest textbooks that describes Nabatean fangs . . . the kind of soreness and symptoms listed make immediate sense. Oh goddess, he’s teething. Slowly and painfully, not as fast as Dimitri's claws and scales are coming in. The larger implication of this is that Felix has a major crest, not just a minor crest, but nobody needs to know as long as he can hide it. He has no wish for an invitation to the Knights of Seiros, nor the desire to attend the rituals and such which any noble with a major crest is obliged to accept.</p><p>So life goes on, Faerghus recovering after the loss of its crown. It is not the same. There is some talk of landowners fomenting discontent in the west. Nevertheless, Felix practices his sword and riding, acquiesces to all the studies and training his father sets out for him. And of course, he's at Dimitri's side whenever he can be.</p><p>Dimitri’s next birthday approaches. The crown prince takes on more duties befitting his role; he is often sent to councils and meetings where Felix is not welcome. He’ll tell Felix they’re mostly boring anyways, and that he’ll make changes, once he’s king. He doesn’t mind regent Rufus, and he trusts Rodrigue, but there are other nobles who attend council whom Dimitri is not so fond of. There is one, Lady Cornelia, who Felix hears the most complaining about. <em>Cornelia isn’t actually noble. She comes along with Count Rowe though, and everyone listens to her. She saved us from a plague, I know, but it doesn’t mean she should be granted political influence, </em>Dimitri has told Felix. Felix had asked if she was the one who sounds smothering and stinks like those overgrown pink flowers in the castle garden. Dimitri had laughed and said yes. Felix had wrinkled his nose, agreeing he didn’t like her either.</p><p>Glenn becomes a more abstract memory to Felix, even though the portrait of Rodrigue and his sons remains in the entrance hall of House Fraldarius, even though no one sits in what was once Glenn’s place at the dinner table. Felix remembers him by wielding his sword, frequenting the training grounds no matter where in Faerghus he’s staying, sparring with the best opponent he can find. Frozen in time, the idea of Glenn remains as someone who is always better than Felix with a weapon. You cannot surpass a ghost, but at least it’s a worthy pursuit (to Felix, it is).</p><p>Speaking of ghosts.</p><p>Dimitri gets better . . . and worse.</p><p>Physically, he's in perfect health (at least healthy, if not perfect, taking into account his scaling pattern – still a secret). With the claws come a fearsome strength. While he was still testing his new-grown claws, he picked a Morfis plum, only meaning to hold it, and instead crushed it in his grip, red juice splattering on his face and blue capelet. That image is stained in Felix's mind, as much as the juice on Dimitri's clothes.</p><p>But despite swearing his wellness to Felix, Felix doesn't think Dimitri is quite well at all. Not in his mind. Is he crazy? Confused? Certainly not all the time, or most of the time. But sometimes he will get this look, a look of attention to something that is not evident to any sane man in the room. Sometimes he seems to fade from the present. When Felix calls his attention, he’ll stumble and stutter for a moment, not admitting he went somewhere else, not attempting to hide it either. At least not when it’s just the two of them. When others are around, though – Rufus, Rodrigue, nobles, friends – he puts a little more effort into laughing it off. The crown prince can be quite charming, when he’s prepared to be. Sometimes Felix will walk in on Dimitri alone, muttering something, and when he notices Felix’s presence, Dimitri will look up with wide blue eyes and tell Felix not to worry – <em>I was just thinking about something – </em>if Felix asks.</p><p>Felix brings it up with Rodrigue, once, when they’re back at House Fraldarius, as they have a moment of quiet one evening in front of the fire. An unusual moment; these days, they're at Fhirdiad more than they're at home. You could go as far as to say that Rodrigue spends more time with Dimitri than he does with Felix, even.</p><p>Rodrigue sifts through the stack of mail accumulated during their time away at the capital while Felix idly plays with one of the cats, tempting it with his tail dangling from over the arm of the rocking chair. It is only the ongoing training grounds maintenance that forces Felix to choose the company of his father. As much as Felix would like to think that Rodrigue grieved Glenn, the proud words of praise for how Glenn died – a true knight, defending the crown prince – spoken over his casket – these words, from his father’s lips, are burned into Felix’s mind. Was Rodrigue <em>truly </em>proud that Glenn died so? Wouldn’t he rather have not lost his son? If it had been his choice, down to Dimitri and Glenn, would he choose Dimitri, out of his duty to the crown? Felix has never asked. He feels it pointless. Duty is the knightly value Felix scorns most.</p><p>“You think Dimitri needs more healers?” Felix asks his father.</p><p>“Hm? His Highness is back at full strength. That was the latest report from the physician. And you two have been sparring enough I would believe him,” Rodrigue says.</p><p>“No, I mean . . . for his mind. Do you see how sometimes he’s not <em>there</em>, even when we’re talking? And you know the physician also reports his nightmares.”</p><p>“My boy . . . nightmares are to be expected after the things he’s seen.” Rodrigue shakes his head.</p><p>The cat leaps for Felix’s tail and he whips it out of reach. Cat 0, Felix 5. “I know.” Felix himself has never had clear dreams. Once in a while, Glenn does appear in his dreams, but it’s a fuzzy concept. He’ll wake with a potent sense of grief that is washed away by the realization of the coming day. “But . . .” Felix chews his lip. The nights he spends in Dimitri’s room at the castle (which, if Rodrigue knows about them, he hasn’t let on) have made him privy at times to the content of Dimitri’s nightmares. Dimitri will scream awake with the tail end of a plea or argument or rebuttal on his lips, which Felix has concluded are usually addressed to the ghosts, the dead still living on his head. So much for Dimitri promising these delusions wouldn’t go on for long. Nevertheless, Felix, awakened by Dimitri’s cries, will give him a shake and remind him who’s alive and who’s not, and tell him to calm down, and usually they’ll fall back asleep, tangled together.</p><p>How does Felix know who haunts Dimitri?</p><p>Once, bolting awake, Dimitri had looked straight into Felix’s eyes and called him by his brother’s name.</p><p>(The crown prince had gotten a reflexive tail-lashing for that, the drive for the motion angry and fearful.)</p><p>Chasing these memories of concern, Felix sighs.</p><p>“But what, son?” Rodrigue prompts.</p><p>“Nothing.” It’s too hard to explain. And could anyone really do something to help Dimitri? An intricate spell, perhaps? No . . . to Felix, it seems like the kind of thing that cannot be forced to heal. That <em>he </em>cannot do anything to <em>help </em>heal. There is no ointment for this ailment.</p><p>Distracted as Felix is, the cat manages to score a claw on the end of his tail spines. Felix hisses at the cat and whips his tail away, grabbing the animal and squeezing it into an angry cuddle.</p><p>***</p><p>Felix is a month away from his 15<sup>th</sup> birthday and today does not start out well.</p><p>He and Rodrigue are in Fhirdiad again. He stayed in his own quarters last night, and when he went to wake Dimitri, the physician was already there. He was reluctant to let Felix in, but he did, as he left, warning him not to present Dimitri with any “propositions unfitting to His Highness’ state”, whatever that meant (rock-tobogganing? dual-wielding?). Felix found the crown prince huddled on his bed, all the covers askew, his gauntlets off and hands shaking, choking back tears.</p><p>Any time Dimitri’s gauntlets are off, it’s usually a bad sign.</p><p>Felix approaches the crown prince. His knees are tucked up and he’s pressing his face into the scaled palms of his hands, hair an absolute mess.</p><p>“Why-didn’t-you-take-me-with-you--why-didn’t-you-take-me-with-you,” he’s murmuring between panted sobs. Claws, black and hard and dark, tremor, curved with tension, tips pressing into his head.</p><p>“Don’t hurt yourself,” Felix says sharply, and sits on the bed beside Dimitri. Dimitri’s mumblings grow incoherent, and he doesn’t look up. Felix bites his lip. He raises his tail gently to one of Dimitri’s wrists and curls it around, gives a gentle tug. Slowly he pries Dimitri’s hands away from his face. The disheveled prince looks past Felix, still shuddering, water gathered around the rims of his eyes. “Dimitri. Dimitri,” Felix says. Gradually, the prince’s gaze focuses on Felix, as he steadies. “Did you hurt yourself?” He’s only done so once.</p><p>Dimitri’s jaw goes tense and trembles before he manages to open his mouth. “Not yet,” he says, tongue stumbling around the words. He looks around him – Felix knows what he searches for.  Dimitri digs in the disheveled sheets and locates one reinforced glove, tugs it on; grabs the remaining gauntlet and finishes the task on his other hand. He rocks back on his heels and takes a few deeper breaths, Felix watching his every movement should he turn volatile again.</p><p>“I need new gauntlets, I need ones made so I – so I can’t take them off,” Dimitri says, and his tone rises, a current of fear.</p><p>“That’s ridiculous,” Felix says.</p><p>“I said I won’t use my claws!” Dimitri almost shouts.</p><p>Felix gets that terrible, uncertain feeling in his gut, the one he gets whenever Dimitri stops making sense.</p><p>“And you don’t have to, but you can wear gauntlets like normal and take them off when you need to,” Felix says, trying to remain reasonable. He watches Dimitri refocus on him. “Look, you can’t be dependent on those things.” Felix reaches to the drawer of the bedstand and rattles around to find Dimitri’s agarthium. He takes it out and scoots closer, holds one hand open, an offering.</p><p>Hesitantly, Dimitri places one gauntlet in Felix’s waiting palm.</p><p>“You do need them shaved soon,” Felix says.</p><p>“I believe so,” Dimitri says, sounding strained, but he leaves the hand there.</p><p>Felix takes this as permission. He slowly, almost reverently, removes the glove anew, keeping a firm hold on Dimitri’s scaled palm. Once the gauntlet is off, he adjusts his grip, and Dimitri spreads his claws, with a tremble.</p><p>“I could hurt you,” Dimitri says, still strained.</p><p>“You won’t,” Felix mutters. You’d think Dimitri’s claws pure black in most environments, but if the light hits them just right, and you’re close enough to see, there’s a glint of deep blue. Felix brings the agarthium stone to the last joint of Dimitri’s index finger and begins there. It makes a soft metal-on-metal sound as he drags it to the tip, leveraging it perpendicularly to blunt the end of the claw. Dimitri trembles, tensing, but Felix’s grip is secure. He repeats the motion, and again. His tail lazily flicks side to side, dipping off the edge of the bed, as he settles into a rhythm.</p><p>There are no words between them for the next several minutes, while Felix finishes his work. All four fingers and the thumb on the right hand, then to the left.</p><p>When Dimitri has his gauntlets on again, he seems to be more grounded, looser.</p><p>“Felix, you shouldn’t - you shouldn’t be functioning as my attendant,” he says, as Felix replaces the agarthium in the bedstand drawer.</p><p>“Well, what am I to do when the healers and physician are so useless?” Felix rolls his eyes.</p><p>“I should be able to take care of my own . . . I should be able to do it.”</p><p>“You know I don’t mind,” Felix returns.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>(This exchange is by now a prayer, a learned recitation.)</p><p>“And I can’t <em>really</em> help you anyways,” Felix says pointedly, standing up.</p><p>“Perhaps I will always have nightmares,” Dimitri says, sounding like he’s fading again.</p><p>Felix’s tail lashes. “It’s past time for breakfast. Come on. I think you have a meeting this morning, don’t you?”</p><p>Dimitri finally gets to his feet, and thank the goddess he seems steady enough.</p><p>***</p><p>It is Dimitri who suggests sparring later that day. Indeed there was a meeting to discuss economic matters that Dimitri went to in the morning, and a council on Western Faerghus matters after lunch. He seems to be in better spirits. Of course, Felix gladly heads to the training grounds with him.</p><p>“I think it’s going to be time for my first real battle soon,” Dimitri tells Felix while they’re gearing up. Dimitri and Felix don heavier armor and spar with steel weapons now, as the crown prince was going through lances so efficiently that there weren’t enough stocked for the battalion drills. He’s learned to know his own strength when handling day-to-day items, but he’s explained to Felix that it’s hard to spar when you’re more concerned about your weapon integrity than the next move of your opponent.</p><p>“I’m sure Rodrigue will send me to battle soon too,” Felix says.</p><p>“They might send us together. Western Faerghus.”</p><p>Felix frowns as he belts up his light plackart. “Really? I thought pirates might be first on the list.”</p><p>“I think they want sometime more impressive from the crown prince,” Dimitri says, seeming contemplative.</p><p>Soon they’re facing off.</p><p>Three matches later, it’s 2 – 1 for Dimitri. Felix has to use his speed and agility to outdo the crown prince and his crest-given strength these days.</p><p>Felix expects Dimitri to take a rest after three matches, but he wordlessly takes up stance opposite Felix again.</p><p>Alright, then.</p><p>Felix wins this one.</p><p>Again, Dimitri wordlessly initiates another match. Felix glances to the sidelines, where a page and squire look to be waiting for the use of this area. Too bad – crown prince takes priority. Felix is caught off-guard by a fierce first blow and loses the round fairly quickly.</p><p>He’s ready for a respite, but Dimitri resumes a beginning stance.</p><p>“Dima –” Felix starts, but Dimitri charges him, so Felix defends.</p><p>Their boots skid on stone, metal glancing off metal, both panting. When they approach each other closely, for a moment in the furious dance, Felix sees something unabated in Dimitri’s eyes, a determination too unkempt for him to trust.</p><p>“I yield,” Felix says, withdrawing, but still Dimitri knocks his sword from his hands and whips the tip of his lance to just below Felix’s chin. Dimitri grins victoriously. It’s not the soft and bright grin Felix knows of his Dima. It is too much like – why, like the glee on Miklan’s face when describing doing something memorably nasty to Sylvain.</p><p>Felix angrily pushes Dimitri’s lance down. He’s sweating under the plackart, wet strands of hair sticking to his face. “I yielded! Did you forget how to spar?!” Felix sidesteps to pick up his sword, eyes on the crown prince.</p><p>“I’ll do even better,” Dimitri says, not really to Felix. His attention is not <em>here. </em></p><p>Felix does not want to further engage this – this creature that stands before him. He hefts his sword and approaches Dimitri close enough to extend his hand, wordlessly asking for his lance, but the prince appears to be lost in his own world. “Dimitri. Dimitri!”</p><p>Dimitri looks back to Felix, attention returned. He lets out an exhale. “Oh. Oh, my – apologies. I suppose I’m excited for my first battle. Our first battle, likely.”</p><p>“Where did you just go?” Felix says suspiciously, taking Dimitri’s lance.</p><p>“Go where?” Dimitri says. “We’ve been sparring.”</p><p>Felix makes a face. “For six rounds with no respite,” he says sharply.</p><p>“I got a bit excited,” Dimitri says, sounding sheepish, or uncertain. Hard to tell.</p><p>“Clearly,” Felix mutters. He straightens his shoulders and goes to put the weapons away.</p><p>“Felix, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to push you –”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Felix calls over his shoulder. Although maybe he’s not, if only because Dimitri's not.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>A handful of weeks later, Felix and Dimitri are both called to a meeting with Rodrigue and regent Rufus to receive news of an unsurprising development. There is a small, armed rebellion in West Faerghus that needs to be quelled and Dimitri is deemed healed enough to go and show his quality on the battlefield for the first time.</p><p>The regent and Rodrigue assign him this duty with a look of hope and pride.</p><p>The crown prince is but 15 years old. He has never killed a man.</p><p>Felix shall go with him.</p><p>(Glenn would have.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for reading hehe</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The strategy is to meet the rebels on the road and take out their leader, make as big a point as possible with as few lives. These are their people, after all.</p><p>Felix and Dimitri both have a small battalion to command, and there are two knights with their battalions further under Dimitri’s leadership.</p><p>They ride one day to an intermediate town, stay overnight, and then are set to intercept the rebels in the evening the next day.</p><p>Felix and Dimitri do not talk much. It is hard to pinpoint exactly where the tension originates, but Felix feels it between them. It is not enough to stop Felix from going to Dimitri’s room unseen and rolling into bed with him (troops pitch tents while the commanders sleep in an inn). And Dimitri sleeps quietly.</p><p>They wake early, gather their men, and set off as soon as possible, eating breakfast on the road.</p><p>A scout is sent ahead in the afternoon. She reports spotting the rebels about two leagues away, about four hours from sundown. So, they are to have a sunset battle. There’s no use quickening the pace to intercept since they stand on better terrain as it is; trailing the edge of the forest, the scrubland will likely give way to cold marsh if they rush ahead.</p><p>The scout returns a second time. The rebel leader is present, at the back of the pack. The rebels number about five- or six-score. Maybe a little more than Dimitri and Felix had been informed. They do not look to have many archers, the report goes.</p><p>Time seems to drag as the four battalions continue towards the inevitable confrontation.</p><p>And then, after a while, they can see their enemies in the distance. The plan is to offer them the option of surrender first. But judging by reports of the rebels’ confident activities in the region, surrender is not likely.</p><p>When they’re close enough, Dimitri motions the knights into formation. They draw up to flank Felix and Dimitri. Sending a herald to the enemy and expecting rebels to play nice would be foolish, so the herald is to be Dimitri’s loudest shout. The crown prince wears a bright blue half-cape over his armor. Felix has a short blue ribbon firmly tying his hair back, the only decoration besides his own armor. Despite the behest of pretty much everyone, Felix leaves his tail bare. People (his father most of all) have been trying to get him to wear tail armor for <em>years</em>. He refuses. The tail must not be armored. It's his tail! He should get to decide.</p><p>His cuisses are chafing his thighs from the ride and he’s looking forward to dismounting and fighting on foot as he does best.</p><p>It is almost time to attack. Their numbers are small enough that this is only going to be a head-on confrontation; no justification for any tactics other than to form an arrowhead of troops and pierce through to the leader of the rebels.</p><p>“Why do we have to kill them . . . do they really think they can win,” Felix murmurs to himself, reality drawing nearer and nearer. Apparently the rebel leader refused to parley, so it’s on her head, but . . . but still. These are Faerghan citizens. They riot because of misconceptions behind the murder of the crown, not because they loathe their country. <em>Uprisings like these are inevitable after such a tragedy, </em>Rodrigue had said. <em>It is our duty to the late king to hold the kingdom together, in unity. </em>Duty. Tch. So these people die just because they are convinced they are right, and will believe it till the end?</p><p>“They will not win,” Dimitri says scornfully.</p><p>“I know,” Felix says, still raising an eyebrow at his confidence. Dimitri looks straight ahead, intent as the rebels near. They look to be gathering, slowing their collective pace.</p><p>“Your Highness . . . I don’t believe they will charge,” one of the knights says.</p><p>“Then we will,” Dimitri says.</p><p>It is in the same tone with which Dimitri had said <em>I’ll do even better, </em>in the training grounds, to apparently no one.</p><p>Felix shudders, not feeling quite so good all of a sudden.</p><p>“Now,” Dimitri calls. “Approach without weapons drawn until the offer, and then if they do not lay down arms, we hunt their leader down and take her <em>head!</em>”</p><p>Their foot soldiers break into a run, mounted commanders into a trot, closing the last few hundred meters between them and enemy lines.</p><p>“SURRENDER YOUR ARMS NOW OR FACE DEATH!” Dimitri yells, as they are close enough to distinguish each figure, almost close enough to make out faces. There is a split second of no response from the rebels except more shuffling and fanning of their front lines. As expected, they will not surrender. Just as Felix makes out the bristling of enemy archers setting arrow to bowstring, he judges their ranks are close enough and throws up his right arm in a signal to their own soldiers equipped with throwing spears, telling them to assume position.</p><p>Dimitri lets out something like a laugh crossed with a battle cry and raises his lance, the two knights also drawing weapons, the unanimous hiss of steel echoing from their battalions. Felix unsheathes his own sword as Dimitri kicks his horse on faster, into the lead.</p><p>“Blast him,” Felix hisses to himself as the knights hurry their own mounts to try to position themselves in front of Dimitri as was the plan. Felix had somewhat of a suspicion that Dimitri’s placid consent to being shielded on the frontlines was not an honest agreement and now he’s proven right as Dimitri canters ahead. They are only 100 meters from the enemy, and soon enough 50 – arrows begin to fly from the rebel archers, who are seemingly in random formation. Felix gives another signal with his arm, and their own spearmen retaliate, puncturing the front line of the rebels who quite apparently do not have a shielding strategy.</p><p>Felix can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears as he whips his steed with his tail after his charging prince, hoping their battalions will keep up, closing the last few meters.</p><p>Then, battle is upon them.</p><p>It is nothing like sparring. Nothing at all.</p><p>Felix’s goal is to dismount as soon as he has a clear spot so he can fight on foot. That would be a good plan, except that Dimitri is now plowing quickly forward into the enemy, lance sweeping, stabbing, withdrawing. The knights, also armed with lances, are a few strides behind him, and the battalions a few strides behind them.</p><p>Felix has had a strong handle put on the back of his saddle that he can wrap his tail around for extra stability; allows him to still use a sword from horseback. With a small shield strapped to his left arm, he sways to one side to avoid a chop from a rebel axe, tugs his horse’s reins, and the creature turns to canter forward, knocking the rebel down. Then there’s an arrow coming at him from the right, and he re-adjusts his seat, flinging his shield arm up to defend. It works, and then a rebel is jabbing their crude lance toward his horse’s flank. He swiftly chops the weapon away with his sword, judges there’s time and room to put his two feet on the ground again, and swings himself off his mount. Predicting a follow-up jab, which indeed comes, he whirls, almost colliding with another soldier at his back, and goes for the open side of the rebel. His opponent is not nearly as fast or practiced as him, and the blow lands, cutting through the leather jerkin but not mortally wounding the man. The rebel stumbles back, clutching the wound.</p><p>Felix has no desire or time to finish that opponent off, because a much better-armed rebel attacks him from his side. He turns just in time to block a blow with his shield arm, though he feels the wood splinter. He easily dodges the next chop from the rebel’s axe. They trade two more blows, Felix dancing around attacks even in the clamour and tight space of struggling bodies on the battlefield. Down on the ground, if he focuses, it’s a little more like sparring. He decides to trust his strength, and puts his weight into knocking the rebel’s axe aside with his own sword. It’s simple from there; he’s marked a weak spot in the man’s armor, and he drives his sword in at an angle. The rebel yells, which turns into a gurgle, and Felix has to forcefully withdraw his sword, freeing it from the sudden dead weight on the end.</p><p>The rebel collapses.</p><p>Combat roars around Felix, cacophonous.  Surrounding him now are largely his own men. He looks at the face of the dead rebel. It was almost too easy. Too easy to take a life. He looks at the end of his sword, bloodied; back to the man’s face. No, no, he was ready for this! He was prepared to kill – this is what Glenn had to do, and now he has to do it – but the mental reassurance doesn’t stop his stomach from lurching. He throws up, right in the middle of the battlefield.</p><p>Oh, hope no one saw that.</p><p>In the end, the thing that mobilizes him again is the sudden thought of Dimitri. He turns, looking for that blue cape. A glimpse of it in the distance; Felix runs and pushes his way through their own troops, safe in the swath through the rebels they’re steadily cutting.</p><p>He engages a rebel briefly, serves them a shoulder wound and they give way to his path. One of the knights he passes on his right. Another rebel comes up against him, who he dodges and scrabbles on, leaving one of their soldiers to deal with that foe. Dimitri’s blue cape is not too far ahead, but now Felix has left the bulk of their forces behind. That likely means Dimitri’s alone.</p><p>Felix focuses muscle as well as mental nerve to the task of forging a path to the prince. It helps that it seems no one is really attacking him, instead focused on what would end up being an unimaginable victory for the rebels if they can actually take the throne’s heir in this evening scrabble. Felix wounds three, forging ahead, not waiting to see if he has actually killed any (this is a better strategy than inspecting his victims and he’s going to stick with it).</p><p>Then, panting and muscles warm, he breaks through to Dimitri. And what a sight it is.</p><p>He arrives just as Dimitri shatters his lance deep in the chest of an enemy. The prince does not harvest a weapon from the fallen to replace it. His gauntlets are off, claws out, and he whirls to confront a foe approaching him from the other side. The rebel jabs a lance at the prince, but Dimitri grabs the weapon in one claw, yanks it away, breaks the crude iron bar clean in half and thrusts both ends into the rebel’s chest.</p><p>Here, there are enough enemies to set upon Dimitri all at once, but Felix realizes they are hesitant to engage. Reason for this mounts as another two gather their collective nerves and rush Dimitri with swords extended. Dimitri lowers his shoulder at the last moment and plows over the first man, grabs the blade of the second man’s sword in his claws, metal on screeching on metal. Uses this weapon to skewer the first man through his throat, blocks a strike from the second with his vambrace. Then his free claw goes straight to, straight <em>through</em> the rebel’s plackart, under his breastplate. The man screams, blood spurts, and Dimitri rips his claw back out, dripping in blood and bits of gore.</p><p>There’s a triumphant, crazed grin on the prince’s face, which is spackled with blood – not his own.</p><p>Felix retches again at this sight.</p><p>Struggling to collect himself, he turns just in time to be knocked over by another foe. He rolls aside from the strike of an axe and hops back to his feet, brandishing his sword and swinging it in retaliation.</p><p>He finds a bit of a rhythm in tagging behind Dimitri – if that can even be Dimitri – clearing enemies at least from behind the prince. What else is there to do? This way at least he does not have to watch the carnage Dimitri creates as he mauls his way to the anticipated location of the leader, though Felix still has to fight the nausea that would addle his focus.</p><p>At a pace too quick for his liking, Felix feels the fatigue of the battle set in, in his arms and legs and mind, beginning to feel disoriented, when he realizes there is no enemy rushing him. He wheels towards Dimitri; and there, the prince stands off against who must be the rebel leader. She’s mounted on a horse, with a fine silver axe. Impressive, but not the best choice for horseback. She raises her axe and yells <em>for the King! </em>– spurs the remaining rebels to charge Dimitri.</p><p>Felix dashes to Dimitri’s left side and defends two oncoming swords from there. How is Dimitri going to handle a horse charging at him?! But Dimitri is in the possession of a lance, and is quick enough to avoid the hooves of the charging steed and drive the weapon deep into its chest. The horse falls with an animalistic scream and Felix scrams to avoid the throes of the beast, parrying a rebel’s blow.</p><p>As Felix fells his current foe, he has a moment to turn back. He is just in time to see Dimitri physically knock the rebel leader down – impressive that she made a stand in the first place, off her fallen horse – and then one claw goes around her neck, lifting her so her boots just drag on the ground as she scrabbles at the hold. The remaining rebels around them stall their offense.</p><p>“I surr—” the rebel leader starts, but Dimitri clearly does not hear, or does not care. His grip tightens and claws crush her neck, tips piercing skin. Blood dribbles, and she writhes, but the prince’s grip is steady.</p><p>The rebels begin to back away. They are not surrendering, Felix realizes. They are fleeing. They scatter, as their leader’s throes still and Dimitri tosses her body, starved of oxygen, to the ground. Dead.</p><p>Felix does not move. Only stares. Horrified. His stomach still turns, nothing left in it.</p><p>Dimitri’s head is bowed for a few moments, seeming to recover. When he looks up, he is looking past Felix. The bloodlust on his face in the heat of the battle now simmers confidently around his eyes, a serious expression.</p><p>"You’re right,” the crown prince says between pants, almost reverently, holding up his black digits, gleaming with red. He is not <em>here.</em> “These claws are mine . . . for . . . a purpose." His right cheek is spattered with blood, an unholy contrast to bright blue eyes.</p><p>Another wave of nausea hits Felix’s gut. He doesn't need to ask who Dimitri addresses.  He's heard Dimitri muttering to them while awake, screaming at them in his sleep. Where's the Dimitri that told Felix he could not imagine using his claws? Who could barely say what they were?</p><p>The prince seems to snap back to the moment. His face contorts into a snarl, boarish. “The rebels flee! Look how they scatter in fear! Pursue them, cut them down!” he says, taking a few paces, but Felix moves himself in Dimitri’s way.</p><p>“What has gotten <em>into </em>you,” Felix demands, his tone shaking betrayingly. “They’re fleeing; let them flee! They’re your people, even if they’re rebels!”</p><p>Dimitri only growls, still looking past Felix, making as if to shoulder him aside.</p><p>“Your Highness!”</p><p>Felix glances to his right; the knights in command have survived, and are approaching with foot soldiers. “Your Highness, the battle is won; let us recoup and prepare to return!” one of the knights calls.</p><p>“We’re letting them get away,” Dimitri says, as if hasn’t heard the knights, still intent on his path. But Felix won’t let him go. He sidesteps to block the prince again, pressing a hand to his breastplate.</p><p>Then, Dimitri looks at Felix. Looks down at Felix.</p><p><em>I could hurt you – </em>Dimitri has served Felix that warning before.</p><p>“Dimitri, stop,” Felix says, burning with anger and urgency and more fear than he’d like to admit.</p><p>And Dimitri stops.</p><p>Felix returns his staying hand to his side. “What’s wrong with you,” he again says, ignoring their approaching troops. His tone still shakes. “You <em>swore </em>you wouldn’t use your claws! Ever!”</p><p>“I . . . was mistaken,” Dimitri says. A grin that’s too hungry and too confident flickers on his face.</p><p>“You tore those men apart with your bare hands,” Felix continues, unsatisfied, still grappling with what he’s seen Dimitri just do. His voice is taut, tone warping and flayed. “You <em>enjoyed </em>it!”</p><p>“I must be ready,” Dimitri says, in a low tone. “Do they not ask you for vengeance? No, I know they have entrusted this to me. Today, I accept. I must. You don’t understand.”</p><p>How could Dimitri accuse Felix of that? Felix is the one who’s <em>been there</em>, when Dimitri screams himself awake. Who’s dressed his claws and back. Felix is the one who’s lost a brother, too. Maybe he doesn’t fully understand Dimitri, but damn him if he’s not the one who’s come the closest, out of everyone the crown prince knows.</p><p>Felix reels, still feeling sick. “You’ve become nothing but a senseless <em>boar,</em>” he cries. He turns on his heel, starts walking away, sword gripped tight in one hand.</p><p>"Felix!" Dimitri shouts after him, after several steps. It is not pleading. It is demanding.</p><p>Felix keeps walking, past the knights, past the carnage strewn about the battlefield, many sent to the grave by the claws of the crown prince.</p><p>No, by the claws of the boar prince.</p><p>Felix has lost his brother. Must he watch while he loses Dimitri, too?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Just looking at your face makes me wanna retch." - Felix, C support with Dimitri</p><p> </p><p>i'm sorry it's taking me a while to post... i am in 'figuring out the plot' hell... slowly slowly outlining.....</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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